


It Don't Mean a Thing

by danger_floof



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Canon don't talk to me about canon, F/M, First Dance, Fluff, Slow Burn, Snark, Swing Dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-11-15 10:17:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11228901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danger_floof/pseuds/danger_floof
Summary: Darcy likes to swing dance. Bucky can't turn down a challenge. It doesn't mean anything, as long as they don't talk about it ... right?





	1. Zoot Suit Riot

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, of course there's a playlist. Because I love you, that's why.
> 
> It Don't Mean a Thing Playlist:
> 
> Sing Sing Sing - Benny Goodman  
> St. Louis Blues - Benny Goodman  
> Zoot Suit Riot - Cherry Poppin' Daddies  
> Shut Up - Little Violet  
> Jump With My Baby - Big Bad Voodoo Daddies  
> Stray Cat Strut - Stray Cats  
> Runaround Sue - Dion and the Belmonts  
> Dream Lover - Bobby Darin

They don’t talk about it. Darcy would make a joke about that being the first rule, except see above re: not talking about it. Not a single word. Ever.

Yeah, it’s weird.

It doesn’t start out that way, though. It starts when Darcy and Jane walk into the Avengers common room to find Tony queuing up something on his StarkPlayer. He doesn’t look as happy to see them as he usually is — in fact, he looks a little irritated.

Darcy gives him a wary look. Being the only standard-issue human around is no joke — she keeps waiting for someone to realize she’s not special and kick her out, and today looks like it might be the day. But after a second, Tony just sighs and presses play. A drum line starts up, then the brass, and Darcy squeaks with joy.

“ _Sing Sing Sing_!” she says. “Is this the Benny Goodman version? It’s my favorite.”

Tony looks startled. “Seriously? I thought you kids these days were all about that music that sounds like robots prematurely ejaculating into a broken speaker.”

“Dubstep,” Darcy says. “Not all of us. Some of us appreciate the finer things in life.” She drops her beat-up messenger bag on the couch, pushes up her glasses (only a little bit duct-taped together) and stares right back at him until he finally cracks a smile.

“All right, Doris Day. Show me what you got.”

She grins and taps her foot a couple of times until she catches the beat. When she starts the Charleston — with no hesitation or missteps — both Tony and Jane look slightly impressed. “Doris Day yourself,” she says breathlessly, “I’m clearly more of a Ginger Rogers. Check these … um … shit, I don’t know any 1940s slang.”

“Get-away sticks,” a rough Brooklyn-accented voice says behind her, followed by a muffled clang.

She stumbles and almost falls. When she turns around, there are two men standing there. One is a clean-cut blonde mountain, smiling a toothpaste smile and surreptitiously rubbing his hand. The other is a shorter dark-haired guy in a beat-up hoodie, looking up at her from under a curtain of (surprisingly flattering) emo hair. The source of the clang is not immediately visible. She narrows her eyes, trying to figure out which of them spoke.

“Is that Benny Goodman?” Blondie says, solving the mystery. His voice matches his face: bright, clean, all-American. Something sparks in the back of Darcy’s mind, but before she can catch it he adds, “Neat! I didn’t know anyone did the Charleston anymore.”

“I found the last one in America just for you, Cap,” Tony says. He sounds sarcastic, as per usual when he’s feeling emotion. Any emotion, which makes him hard to read.

Cap as in Captain America? Darcy’s eyebrows hit her hairline. Tony’s sudden desire for a 1940s nostalgia concert starts to make sense. Aaaaand now the new guys are both looking at her. She swallows and raises her chin, refusing to be flustered by the fact that she’s wearing a Team Horrible shirt and beat-up Chucks in front of an American icon. After Thor and the thing with the world ending (and then the other thing with the world ending, seriously, the world really needs to stop doing that), she swore she was never going to be intimidated by a mere human. She wasn’t expecting to have that tested by Captain America, but. Still.

“Excuse _you_ , Tony,” she says. “I am so not the only one. There was a whole swing dance resurrection thingy when I was in high school. All my friends learned how to Charleston.”

“And when was that?” Emo Dreamboat asks. Yup, that’s the voice from before: rough, sandpapery, and so flat she can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic. She tries to gauge it with a look at his face, but he seems pretty determined to hide behind his hair.

“2003,” she says. Tony winces at the reminder that he is ancient. Blondie — Cap — seems more or less indifferent. If the Dreamboat reacts in any way, she can’t see it. _Dude, then why the hell did you ask?_ “I’m Darcy by the way. I work with Jane, who sleeps with Thor.”

“Darce,” Jane sighs, not even particularly mad.

“I’m Steve,” Cap says, reaching his hand out to shake. Very firm handshake, no surprise there. “Pleasure to meet you both.”

They all look at Emo Dreamboat. He says nothing.

The song ends and the player starts up St. Louis Blues. Almost against her will, Darcy sways into a little basic swing step. She looks at Steve, then loses her nerve and turns to Tony instead. “Dance with me. The music demands it.”

“Not me, Ginger,” he says, looking amused. “Ask the Greatest Generation over there.”

Steve blushes when she turns back to him and rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “I’m, ah, not really a dancer. Bucky was always better at that kind of stuff.”

She’s all set to be sympathetic if he needs a moment after talking about Bucky. Everyone, and especially everyone with a poli sci degree, knows the sad story of Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes. But instead, he seems to be suppressing a smile. That’s confusing, until Emo Dreamboat sighs and shakes his hair back to shoot his buddy an irritated look.

“Don’t look at me,” he says, “I ain’t done any jitterbugging since 1943.”

Oh. That’s.

That’s Bucky Barnes.

“Huh,” Darcy says faintly. They both turn to look at her, Steve apologetic and Bucky resigned to whatever reaction people usually have when they find out he’s alive. Fangirl screaming? Is fangirl screaming appropriate?

 _No. We saved the world one and a half times, at least. We do not fangirl scream._ He _should fangirl scream over_ me.

“It’s cool,” she says. She could stop there, but she doesn’t. She’s a little bit mad at him for almost making her lose her composure, plus she’s feeling the strain of being the only normal person in the room still and on top of that _nobody will dance with her._ “I’m sure you really wowed the dames in 1943, but I think we’ve come up with a few new moves since then.”

Tony makes a low 'Ooooo' kind of noise. Jane sighs. Steve and Bucky shoot each other a look that says as clear as day that they didn’t get to be American legends by backing down from a challenge. Steve’s look must say something else that she can’t read, too, because Bucky flicks his eyes upward in a brief eyeroll before turning back to her.

“I don’t think so, sweetheart,” he says. He takes his hands out of the pockets of his hoodie for the first time, and oh, that’s what that clanging sound was. Darcy wonders how far up the metal goes. He has a hair tie on his metal wrist, which is pretty hilarious right up until he pulls back his hair and those cheekbones go from _historical_ to _okay that is just unfair._

So she has a thing for men with ponytails, so sue her.

Then he holds out his hands. Darcy didn’t save the world 1.5 times by backing down from a challenge, either. She holds up one finger, goes over to the player and scrolls through Tony’s “Romancing Steve Rogers” playlist. (It’s not called that, but let’s be real here.) After some thought, she cues up _Zoot Suit Riot_. It’s not exactly authentic, but it’s fun and won’t cause any time travel PTSD meltdowns or whatever.

She walks to the middle of the floor and beckons. Bucky rolls his eyes again, but walks over.

If you ask Darcy, dancing is a lot like sex. Everyone makes a big deal about flashy moves, but it's really about who your partner is. She’s danced with "expert" partners who made her feel like a wooden doll, and total beginners who made her feel like a goddess. It's the chemistry, the way your bodies talk to each other, and you either have it or you don't.

From the way Bucky ties his hair back and the deadpan look of determination on his face, she's guessing that they don't. She expects something serious and focused, almost businesslike. Bucky will be competent and muscle her through showpiece moves like a mannequin, just to prove that he can. Then he'll nod and disappear, and a little piece of her teenage crush is going to die forever. She accepts his outstretched hand and with it, the inevitable disappointment.

Then the music starts. Bucky nods a couple of times to the thumping drums, getting the rhythm, then leads her into motion just as the brass skitters in.

To her surprise, he doesn't get right down to business. Instead, he keeps it to a basic step for the first verse. They turn slowly, swaying together. He lets her out to arm's length, gathers her up close, lets her out, and gathers her up again. At first it's stiff, his right hand as rigid on her back as the metal of his left one is in her palm. She feels the same, too aware of who they are and where they are. But then she starts to feel something else: the solidity of his hand in hers, his arm behind her. The way he knows exactly where they are and where they're going. How he invites, but never pushes. She lets herself relax into it, into him, and the chemistry hits her like a freight train.

"Who's your daddy? Yes I am," the singer croons, and Bucky's mouth curves into a grin. Darcy has half a second to think, _Oh shit I’m in trouble._

They get down to something then ... but whatever it is, it's not business. Everywhere he leads, she follows, always in the right place by what feels like telepathy. He reaches out, her hand is there. She comes out of a move, he's already leading her into the next one. He spins her one way, then the other. They break off, then come back together, snapping their fingers like they had it rehearsed. He slides her around on the floor during the brass solos, then picks her up around the waist and throws her in the air when the drums come back in. She flips herself over his back, around the metal arm, and he pulls her back up between his legs perfectly on beat. At some point she finds herself laughing out of sheer exhilaration.

The last crescendo hits, and he drops her back into a dip. For a second they just stare at each other, breathing hard and both still grinning. She feels the chill of his arm around her back, the warmth of his other hand in hers. His eyes flick down, just for an instant, to her lips. The air feels electric.

Then someone coughs and he drops her flat on her back. By the time she struggles up, sputtering, the elevator door is already closing behind him.

After a second of futile glaring at the closed door, she remembers Jane, Steve and Tony standing by the wall. They're frozen with their mouths open. Tony's hands are up like he was about to clap. He lowers them and takes a breath in.

"Don't!" Darcy says. "Not. A. Word." She doesn't know what her face is doing, but whatever it is, it makes him swallow and nod. Steve does too. Jane makes a face, but subsides.

Darcy leaves to take a cold shower. They don’t talk about it.


	2. Shut Up

She doesn't see Bucky again for three months, and when she does, he just nods like he's never even met her. She does the same. It's a relief, honestly, not to have to make awkward small talk. Her hands shake a little the first couple of times she sees him, but after that everything settles into some kind of equilibrium. They even talk a little, once in a while, about food or movies or their mutual hatred of modern children's television. ("It's like they're all on acid," Darcy says, and Bucky agrees, " _Bad_ acid.”) They just don't talk about ... that.

It would all be perfectly fine if it weren't for the fact that Steve really likes swing music, and Tony really likes Steve. So of course, when Halloween rolls around, Tony announces that they're having a party and the theme is "1940s Speakeasy."

"We didn't have speakeasies in the 40s, Tony," Steve says, "Prohibition was over." But his eyes are soft, and seeing the smile on his face, Darcy can't bring herself to be mad about any of it. Even if it means she might have to think about That One Time.

So she gets herself a dress with a sweetheart neckline that makes the girls look great (and no big poofy skirt because hello, she does know the difference between the 40s and the 50s). She puts on red lipstick and does her hair in victory rolls. She tells herself it'll be fine. She tells herself that she's a millennial and no one will be surprised if she doesn't dance. She tells herself she doesn't even remember That One Time, it's ancient history, and Bucky probably won't be there anyway. He hates crowds, and parties, and like, joy.

It works right up until the moment she walks in and sees him standing by the bar, his hair slicked back in another of those devastating ponytails. He’s wearing a blue double-breasted suit that makes his eyes look neon and his shoulders look a mile wide. He glances up, and his eyes widen just a little bit when he sees her. Her mouth goes dry for what is definitely, completely, 100% no reason.

Tony announces something to the room at large -- it's a blur of noise to her ears -- and the Avengers and Avengers-adjacent clear the middle of the floor. A swing beat starts. Bucky's head moves, just a tiny bit, in time with it.

Every single memory she's been pretending she doesn't have comes screaming back in a white-hot rush. She wants to dance with him. She wants his hand on her back and his shoulder under her fingertips, wants the beat wiring them together like two parts of one body. She wants it so bad it hurts, more than she can remember wanting anything from anyone. Not even sex. The intensity scares her a little, but not enough to keep her from raising her eyebrows at him in silent invitation.

He about-faces and leans over the bar to order a drink. She tells herself it doesn't sting.

The dance floor slowly fills up, and Darcy ignores it. She circulates a little, talking to friends and strangers. It takes almost an hour for the sting (that isn't there) settle to an ache (that isn't there either).

After a while, she goes to get a drink of her own, making a point to stay at the opposite end of the bar from where he’s still lurking. It's too short for that to help much, but it's the principle of the thing. When her gin and tonic comes, she leans back on her elbows and finally lets herself check out the dance floor. It's full of very coordinated and athletic people with absolutely no idea what they're doing. Sam and Natasha are laughing as they try (and fail) to find the beat. Pepper and Bruce are dancing a lovely, dignified ... something. Foxtrot maybe? Wanda and Vision are doing some sort of line dance while Jane and Thor attempt to imitate them. And last but not least, Steve and Tony are doing an excellent impression of two 14-year-olds at junior prom. It's obvious they’ve both been practicing, and equally obvious they're both trying to pretend they haven't.

Steve starts out leading, but after a second Tony says something that makes him laugh, and they switch. Tony leads the invulnerable Captain America like he's made of glass. Their steps are slow and precise. Darcy wants to squeal over them like puppies.

When the song ends, they wash up at the bar, both flushed and breathless though this is hardly a workout for either of them. Natasha and Sam crowd in, too, and Darcy exchanges grins with Nat.

"Not bad, huh, Buck?" Steve says.

"Sure, punk," Bucky drawls. She can't see him past the forest of muscly shoulders, but he sounds amused. Darcy tries not to let herself shiver at the sound of his voice. This is stupid. She talks to him all the time — well, some of the time — and it's not weird. "You keep dancing like that and in a couple of years, you might even find the beat."

Steve laughs and punches him in the arm with a low clang.

"Oh, big talk from a guy who's been holding up the bar all night," Sam says, laughing too. "Why don't you show us what you got, then, if you think you can do better?"

There's a sudden silence, and Steve and Tony get still. Then Bucky sighs and she hears the clink of his beer bottle hitting the bar. She doesn't even pretend to be surprised when he walks around the others and holds out a hand to her.

"You can't turn down a challenge, can you?" she says, still leaning back on her elbows.

He tips his head in acknowledgement, and then his lips turn up in a smirk. "Can you?"

She tips her head right back at him and knocks back the last of her drink. It'll be fine, she tells the burn of want and fear in her stomach. She's only had one drink. There's no way this can get out of hand. (She doesn't listen to the little voice that says she wasn't drinking at all That One Time.)

They take the floor about halfway through "Little Bitty Pretty One." At first, it's normal, the way any two strangers would dance: open hold, arm's length. Competent but nothing like the crackle and flow she remembers. Darcy starts to wonder if she was exaggerating things in her memory, or if she made up the whole thing.

When the song ends, there's an extra second of silence, and she thinks she catches a glimpse of Sam messing with the sound system. Then a beat comes in, slow and slinking, punctuated with the moan of a saxophone. She finds herself shifting her hips, counting time to match it. When she looks up, Bucky's eyes are narrowed, and she wonders if she's about to get left on the floor again.

Then a woman's voice comes in, low and smoky. "He finds it easy to criticize ..."

Bucky cracks up laughing. "You got a point to make, Wilson?" he calls over her shoulder. Darcy turns in time to see Sam grin and Natasha blow them a kiss. When she turns back, Bucky looks at her and raises an eyebrow.

She nods.

When he reels her in this time, there’s no more arm's-length about it: his hand is at her waist instead of her shoulderblade, arm wrapped almost all the way around. The first time they danced they were jumping, jiving together: this time they're floating on the trumpets and the purr of the singer’s voice. “All you wanted was at your feet …” she sings, and Darcy tries not to shiver.

He leads her into turns and twists like a fish on a line, always touching somewhere: hand on her hand, her shoulder, her hip. She tosses her head when he spins her away from him, throws out a careless hand just in time for him to catch it against the warm muscle of his chest. He pushes her into a turn, then stops her halfway with his hands just over her elbows and leads her that way, back to front, for a few beats.

The song builds, the singer's voice almost sobbing against the wail of the brass. Bucky takes her hands and tosses them outwards, and she obeys the signal to open her arms. He steps in flush against her, leading with his chest and hips against hers, sparking little fires along her nerves even though no part of them is touching skin-to-skin. She can smell his aftershave, hear his breath in her ear even over the music. She doesn't remember where she is. She doesn't care.

He leans forward as the song fades out, pressing her into a dip, only bringing his hands up to catch her just before she hits the ground.

There’s a beat of silence. She stares up at him, his face above hers and his thigh still pressed between her legs, and her brain is swept clean of any word except Please.

“Damn it,” Sam says, and the real world rushes back in. Bucky goes rigid. Darcy jerks her eyes away from his just in time to see Sam hand Steve a $10 bill.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” Steve says, like the cocky little shit they all know he secretly is.

When she looks back at Bucky, his face is blank and frozen. At least this time he didn’t drop her on her ass. His left arm levers her upright with about as much warmth as a crowbar, but it beats getting off the ground in these heels. 

They stand for a beat, looking at each other. Darcy wants to reach for him, but she already knows that’s not how this works. Instead, she snaps off an ironic salute and walks away before he can.

She goes to get another drink. They don’t talk about it.


	3. Jump With My Baby

The third time, the two of them don’t bother with all the circling and daring each other (themselves?).

It’s early December at Avengers HQ, and the cold has set in with a vengeance. Most of the team is headed back from a mission. Darcy can hear from their sad, tired voices that it didn’t go well. There’s not much a lowly intern can do when HYDRA evades the clutches of the super-people yet again, so she decides to make stew.

She’s not thinking about That One Time (or That Other Time) when she puts on Big Bad Voodoo Daddy, but she’s not _not_ thinking about it either. She doesn’t-not-think about it a lot since Halloween. She and Bucky have been talking a lot, and it’s still never about that, but sometimes she thinks it’s not not about that either. He asks more questions lately, seems to make an effort to show his reactions when she answers. (Dude doesn’t have Resting Bitch Face, he has Resting Murder Face. Darcy loves it. There’s never a line at Starbucks when you’re getting coffee with the Winter Soldier.)

Sometimes she thinks she sees him watching her out of the corner of her eye, but he’s never looking when she turns her head.

This particular mission, she knows he stayed behind — they don’t like him to go on missions that could be HYDRA-related. So when an arm snakes around her waist halfway through _Jump With My Baby_ , she doesn’t even startle. She just lets him pull her into a turn, spin her out and back in. The kitchen is huge enough to feed six super appetites, there’s plenty of room. Drops spatter from the spoon she still has in her hand.

When they finally come face to face, Bucky lifts her spoon hand to his mouth and tastes the stew without missing a beat. “Needs salt,” he says, winding her up into a side-by-side Charleston hold.

“Your mom needs salt,” she retorts. Tony was so mad when she introduced Steve and Bucky to ‘your mom’ jokes. They love them. That whole choirboy reputation is so exaggerated it’s not even funny.

Bucky retaliates by plucking the spoon away with his right hand and casually, one-handedly flipping her upside down with his left.

The others get home just in time to see him twirling around with her still upside down, her shrieks of laughter muffled against his thigh. He misses a beat for the first time when the door opens. Darcy responds by clamping her arms around his waist.

“Bucky Frederick Barnes,” she says, twisting her neck to look up at him. “If you drop me on my head, I’m sticking fridge magnets to your arm while you sleep.”

He looks down at her all blank and murder-y for a second, then recovers enough to smirk and get back on beat. He taps her arm with his free hand, and she lets go. He flips her across the back of his neck and down his other arm. She lands flush against him, and he takes her hand and keeps going like the others aren’t even there. “Coupla things, doll,” he says. “One, only in your dreams could you sneak up on me while I’m sleeping. Two, my middle name ain’t Frederick.”

“No shit,” she says. “To both of those. Take me back towards the salt shaker, Frederick.”

He does, spinning her out to pick it up and then flicking her across the floor to the pot. He does an idle rock-step while she salts, scoops her back up, and whirls them both back across the kitchen to where he left the spoon. She catches a passing flash of costumes and stunned faces.

“What am I witnessing?” Tony says, looking shell-shocked.

Darcy slides a glance at Bucky and they silently agree to ignore the peanut gallery. He does the half-turn elbow grab thing again to steer her back over to the pot. As the song ends, she scoops up a bite and stretches her arm out to keep it level with his mouth as he sweeps her into a dip.

He chews thoughtfully and nods. “Better,” he says, and sets her on her feet. “Want me to get bowls?”

“Yes please,” Darcy says, and that’s it. She turns to the team and puts on her Team Mom face before they can say a word. “Anyone who wants some stew had better hit the showers!”

They disperse. They’re surely exchanging looks as they go, maybe talking amongst themselves, but no one says anything to Darcy or Bucky.

They eat stew, and don’t talk about it.


	4. Stray Cat Strut

Months roll by, and HQ settles into a kind of equilibrium. There are missions to be fought and science to be done, but in between that the super-people and the ... other people (Darcy has banned the use of the word 'sidekick') manage to carve out some kind of life. They hang out in the living room in the evening and work out together in the gym. Once or twice a month, someone (usually Darcy) makes dinner and everyone gathers to catch Steve and Bucky up on some of the pop culture they missed.

Darcy teaches Steve to text. Anything Steve can do, Bucky can do better, so the next day Darcy finds herself drowning under an avalanche of emojis and cat pictures.

_How did you even get my number,_ she replies.

He texts back two emojis: a smirk face and a dripping syringe. So, that's not creepy at all.

She sends him a poop and saves him in her phone as 'Frederick.'

They work on opposite sides of the building, so they don't see each other much outside of what Steve insists on calling "family dinner." Every few days, Bucky will send her a meme or a comment about his day ( _Why does everyone call me Robocop, it's like they WANT me to kill them,_  reads a typical message). Darcy sends back a reaction selfie or sometimes a cat video. She gives him first taste of the food she cooks for family dinner and makes sure his gross protein drinks are always in the communal fridge. She's pretty sure he lurks outside the lab whenever she's working alone at night, but she can never catch him. It's friendship of a sort, she guesses.

In March, when Steve starts officially dating Tony, Bucky stops texting her and doesn't show up for dinner. Darcy thinks back to the wave of jealousy that hit her when Thor finally came back for good. Sharing her best friend sucked, even though it was for a good reason, and she and Jane had only known each other for a couple of years. Bucky's known Steve for almost a century. He _died_ for Steve. And she can't help but remember how, aside from her, he doesn't seem to really talk to anyone else.

Before she can talk herself out of it, she whips out her phone. _come get coffee with me and remind me why I shouldn't blow up the lab_

He doesn't reply for over an hour. She checks her phone so often Jane starts teasing her. And of course, when it finally goes off, she's across the room and Jane gets to it first.

"Who's Frederick?" she asks, holding the phone out.

Darcy snatches it. "Noneya," she says absently, swiping the screen unlocked. "Just a friend."

"Uh-huh," Jane murmurs. Darcy ignores her.

_Not really my area, doll,_ Bucky's text says. She breathes out a sigh of relief that he answered at all.

_then come help me figure out how to blow it up without getting caught._ She thinks about it, then adds, _and don't even try to tell me THAT'S not your area_

He sends back a bomb emoji. A few minutes later, he sends her a clock pointing at 3:30. It's 3:15. She sends him back a thumbs up.

"Janey, I'm going out for coffee," she says.

Jane raises her eyebrows. "With Frederick?"

Darcy blushes. She _blushes_. Ugh. "Maybe," she says, and can't quite silence the part of her brain that wishes this was exactly what Jane thinks it is.

Bucky shows up wearing a hoodie, hood up, and his hair is falling all over his face again. He's slouched down against the wall by the garage, hands in his pockets. His Murder Face is more pronounced than usual.

Darcy stops and puts her hands on her hips, staring silently until he looks up at her. She raises an eyebrow. "Really?"

He glares for a second, then something in his shoulders relaxes and he huffs out a reluctant laugh. "I don't see why not," he says, but he flips back the hood and pulls the hair tie off his wrist. Hello cheekbones, Darcy missed you. "Steve's been lettin' me get away with it."

"Steve lets you get away with anything up to and including murder," Darcy says. She jerks her head and they fall into step heading out the side door. "Looking like a greasy emo cliché probably isn't even on his radar."

His smile fades, and she knows too late that was the wrong thing to say. "Not a lot's on his radar these days," he mumbles.

It's chilly outside. She nudges up against him, then when that doesn't provide enough shelter, picks up his left arm and puts it around her shoulders. Not a lot of warmth comes off it, but the exposed side of his chest is like a furnace. "Regular sex, mostly," she agrees, "and making disgusting kissy faces with Tony. Seriously, they are grown men. Why? Just why?”

He huffs that little laugh again, then sighs. “I’m glad they’re happy. I always wanted him to have someone, but … none of this is how I pictured it.” He looks around, and Darcy wonders what it all looks like to him. He was born in 1918, and now he’s a century-old cyborg, his best friend is dating a man, and everyone around him has a tiny supercomputer in their pocket. For a second, she feels painfully inadequate to give support.

“It’s not all bad, though …” she says slowly, looking for reassurance more than offering it.

The arm around her shoulders tightens. When she looks up, he glances down and one corner of his mouth turns up. “Not bad at all.”

She’s not blushing. She’s not blushing. She … might be blushing. Damn that mid-century flirting, she falls for it every time.

“… thanks,” he says after a second, so softly she could easily pretend not to hear it.

She doesn’t embarrass both of them by asking what for. Instead, she knocks her head lightly against his chest in acknowledgment. “Been there. Done that. Got the t-shirt. Never wore it, but got real mad when somebody else started wearing it instead.”

Now it’s his turn to blush, while she watches in delighted shock. “It ain’t like that. I mean … I know what people say, but we were never … that way. We’re family.”

She resists the urge to roll her eyes. Like anyone could be around them for five seconds and not know that. “He’s like your little sister,” she agrees.

This time he laughs full out, and she almost stops walking in shock. She's heard him laugh before, an uncomfortable little half-chuckle, but this is something else: head back, eyes crinkled, almost silent. It's ... oh no, she doesn't want to think it, but she can't help herself. It's cute.

By the time she recovers, he's steered her past the Starbucks to the hipster indie coffee shop he and Steve like. The line is long, and Bucky's too busy laughing to have his usual crowd-clearing effect. Darcy thinks about whining, but the point wasn't the coffee anyway, it was to get him out of Greasy Emo Land. They join the back of the line. 

His arm is still around her, and he's looking down with this smile that makes her heart pound. She looks up at the menu like she doesn't already know her order, just to get some breathing room. He opens his mouth, and she hums a little, pretending the music is too loud to say anything. The shop is playing Lana del Rey, because of course they are. 

Except, when the song fades out, one of the baristas fiddles with the system and a chorus of crooning men comes on over a casual strolling bass line. It's _Stray Cat Strut_ , and before she can help herself, she's bopping in place. After a second, so is Bucky. She sneaks a look up at him through her lashes and catches him sneaking one down. She swallows but doesn't say anything. Those are the rules. She's not sure anymore who set them or when.

He doesn't move his arm.

When the line moves, he steers her forward with it, then rocks them back a step. Just like that, they're dancing in place. Unlike some assholes she's seen dancing in crowded places, Bucky doesn't do any big moves. He just rocks them both, staying well out of everyone else's personal space. When the chorus comes in, he spins her, but keeps her in so close her nose brushes against his chest. She ends up on his other side, the other arm firmly around her shoulders, and tries not to be thrilled that he didn't take the chance to let go. The next time the line moves forward, he holds her back while he steps forward and passes her to the other side behind his back.

They've been very careful not to knock against anyone else, but Darcy sees that people are giving them a little more room anyway. A couple look annoyed, but most are smiling.

Bucky looks around, shrugs, and pulls her in close so he can turn them both. The cotton of his hoodie is soft and warm against her cheek. She fights the urge to close her eyes and breathe him in. The line moves forward again, putting them in front of a gap between tables, and he spins her out into it and lets her jive back to him. When she gets close enough, he wraps an arm around her waist and boosts her up onto one of his hips, then the other. She'd usually kick her feet out, but instead she keeps them tucked up close.

She's laughing again, like she always does when they dance, just out of pure happiness. He's smiling too, that same smile from earlier.

They turn a few more times, inching forward, and he dips her in front of the counter just as the song ends. She's almost startled when the room erupts into applause. Even the barista is clapping.

When Bucky tips her back onto her feet, his smile is different -- a little twisted, almost wry. She nudges her head against his chest and he pats her hair into place before turning to the barista. "One medium mocha with extra whip and a large Americano, please," he says. Darcy blinks. She didn't realize he knew her regular order. Then again, why not? They've gone out for coffee before. They're ... it takes her entirely too long to think the word 'friends.'

Bucky pulls out his wallet and shoots her a tiny glare when she reaches for hers. He never lets her buy the coffee, it's one of those weird little bits of 40s chivalry he can't seem to shake. This time, though, the barista waves his card away. "On the house, man," she says, smiling. "Thanks for the show."

They drink their coffee on the walk back to HQ, and don't talk about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Author does not advocate dancing in public unless you can be SURE you're not elbowing bystanders. Swing dancing takes a lot of space and elbows are sharp. Don't be that guy.


	5. Runaround Sue

In May, Darcy comes downstairs in nice jeans and heels, her usual gloss replaced with actual lipstick. She's hoping to slide out the door unnoticed but just her luck, Steve and Tony are playing Scrabble in the living room and ... she swallows ... and Bucky is on the couch reading a book.

They all look up when she comes in. Steve smiles. Tony whistles. Bucky looks surprised for a second, then murderous. He looks back down at his book before she can decide if that's normal murder face, or "I'm actually feeling murderous" murder face.

"And where are you off to, little girl?" Tony says, leering.

Darcy sticks her tongue out at him. "Ugh, Tony, be more creepy! Not that it's any of your business, but I have a date."

There's a startled pause. Steve's eyes flick to Bucky, who's in pajamas and clearly settled in for the night. She doesn't let hers do the same. She's a grown woman who has a male friend and also happens to be going on a date. It's got nothing to do with him. It's not weird.

Bucky doesn't move, but somehow his presence feels heavier. Like he's sucking all the air out of the room.

"With who?" Steve says, placing his tiles very carefully and keeping a wary eye on the couch.

"A guy I met at the Death Cab for Cutie concert last week," Darcy says. She keeps her eyes rigidly forward and adds, "He's taking me dancing." If there's a note of defiance in her voice, it's because she's being put through the third degree. It's got nothing to do with anyone -- anything else.

Bucky's left arm goes off into a flurry of whirs and clicks as the plates re-set. It's so loud and sudden in the silence that the rest of them all jump. Whatever, his arm does that occasionally. It's still not weird.

Tony purses his lips in a silent whistle and shares a significant glance with Steve. Then he turns to her, says "No," casually, and goes back to his letters.

Darcy's eyes narrow and she can feel herself drawing up to her full height. Now Steve's wary gaze is fixed on her. "I'm sorry," she says, her voice very soft and poisonously sweet. "I could have sworn you just told me no. But I know that can't be right, because you can't do that. Because," her voice starts to climb a little bit, "I'm an adult and you're not my real mom!"

Tony turns back to her and starts to get up, but Steve sighs and puts his hand out to keep his boyfriend seated. "He's right, Darce," he says. "You live here, you know all of us, you work with Jane. You're very close to --" His eyes flick to Bucky, then away. "-- to the Avengers, and that makes you a target. You can't just go out on dates with random people who haven't been vetted."

Darcy gives a little frustrated scream and throws her hands up. "He's not random! He manages an Office Depot. We're friends on Facebook."

That impresses absolutely no one in the room. She can see Steve starting to stick out his jaw for the classic Captain America Knows Best speech. "Listen --"

"No," she says before he can start. "You listen, Steven J. Edgar Rogers! No one --" her eyes do slip over to Bucky now, but she drags them away "--  no one has asked me on a date in over a year. I never meet anyone but superheroes and SHIELD agents. The superheroes treat me like a pet and the agents are afraid of me. I spend all my time being the only normal person in a room full of gods, and for one night all I want to do is go out with a regular human guy who actually seems to like me!"

She stops, chest heaving and fists clenched. Bucky still hasn't so much as looked up. Because this has nothing to do with him, of course. It's not weird at all.

Steve and Tony exchange glances. "At least take someone with you as a bodyguard," Steve says at last, sounding horribly sympathetic. "They can stay in the background, just in case you get in trouble."

She snorts. "Yeah, because none of you will attract any attention in a club full of people. The only one that might get away with it is Natasha, and she's in Belarus."

Steve bites his lip, but seems to know he can't argue. She's heard about that time in the mall in DC. "Maybe we could get one of the agents from the base --"

Darcy puts her hands on her hips, about ready to scream again.

"I'll do it." Bucky's voice is quiet, almost a whisper, but it cuts across the room like a gunshot. Darcy whips around to stare at him. He takes his time marking his place and closing the book, then finally raises his head and looks her dead in the eye. "You seem to forget I'm a covert agent too, doll. I'll do it. Your boyfriend will never see me unless he needs to."

 _Now_ it's weird.

***

It only takes about ten minutes for Darcy to realize this is not going to go well. She knew it wouldn't be like The Thing (that she is definitely not thinking about especially not with Bucky out there somewhere watching her), but this guy Kevin said he liked to dance and seemed nice enough even if he didn't give her butterflies.

She has butterflies now, all right, but they're not from him. She tried to argue about Bucky coming with her, but Steve and Tony wouldn't even let her finish a sentence. The man himself just walked off and came back a few minutes later in black jeans and a blue Henley. With his hair tied back and a hint of scruff, he made her heart thump in a way that left her wondering why she was going on a date with a normal human being again, exactly -- but then she felt the zing in her nerves. Oh right, sex. As in, that thing the two of them were definitely not having.

She felt herself flush and turned around to leave before anyone saw. "I'm not waiting for you!" she yelled back over her shoulder, feeling like a petulant teenager.

"Good!" he yelled back. "We shouldn't show up together."

Now, she lets Kevin lead her onto the floor and tries not to think about the fact that a super-hot deadly assassin is watching their every move. Another five minutes, though, and she's getting a sinking feeling that that's not even the biggest problem.

When Kevin said he "loved swing dancing," she should have taken that with a grain of salt. By her estimation he's been dancing once, or twice maybe. He bounces his way across the floor, slightly off beat, his arms as limp as cooked spaghetti. Every few bars he cranks her through a spin. She has to hold her shoulder rigid to keep some shred of a rotator cuff in place. And to top it all off, he's one of those guys who sees dancing as an excuse to get grope-y. She hauls his hand away from where it's straying towards her butt, places it firmly on her shoulder blade, and shoots him a bright smile.

On one of her spins, she catches a glint of light on metal. The next time around, Bucky's leaning on a table at the edge of the dance floor. He catches her eye and raises his beer in a tiny, ironic toast. The corner of his mouth curls up in a way that is not particularly nice. Darcy has to resist the urge to stick her tongue out at him.

He's not dancing, she notices. Now that she thinks about it, she's never seen him dance with anyone but her.

The fourth time she redirects Kevin's wandering hand, he starts to get that all-too-familiar sulky look. She sighs. What is it about some guys that makes them see a friendly smile and a nice rack as an open invitation? Her boobs grew that way, for Thor's sake, she didn't pump them up specifically for him.

Apparently, in addition to basic biology, he never learned how to take a damn hint. As Dion and the Belmonts start into the slow, crooning intro to _Runaround Sue_ , he drops her hand and goes into full on junior-prom-slow-dance position with both hands firmly on her butt. Which a) rude and b) this isn't even a slow song! She's stunned into momentary stillness, which he seems to take as encouragement, because he smiles and leans in like he’s going to try and kiss her.

Just as the beat kicks in, a metal hand taps him on the shoulder. "Mind if I cut in, pal?" Bucky says.

Kevin glares at him. Darcy starts to giggle, maybe a little bit hysterically.

"We're on a date, man!" Kevin says.

Bucky smiles sweetly, making the other man turn pale. "That so?" he says. "Coulda fooled me. Usually when I go out on a date, I try not to let anyone else kiss my girl."

"What?" Darcy and Kevin say together. Bucky shoots her a sidelong look, and her heart starts to pound.

"Nobody's kissing her," Kevin says, sounding equal parts confused and annoyed. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Bucky sighs and shakes his head pityingly, like it's all so obvious. Then, like a flash, his arm whips around Darcy's waist. To Kevin, it probably looks like that arm pulls her in, but that's never been how things are with them. Bucky doesn't jerk her around. He just invites her to go with him, if she wants to.

She does. She always has.

He holds her closer than he ever has before, pressed insistently against the length of her body, making her nerves catch fire. She has a half-second to register her date's indignant shout. Then Bucky's mouth is on hers and the rest of the world goes away.

He's gentle at first, so careful, his lips soft on hers. Then she nips his bottom lip, and he growls and wraps a fist in her hair. She makes a sound in return, halfway between a moan and a whimper. His tongue is in her mouth and his left arm is around her waist, and when she goes on her toes to rub against him, she sees stars. She didn't think anything could be better than dancing with him but this is so, so much better.

When they pull back for air, he lets go of her hair and traces his right hand lightly over her bottom lip. His eyes are soft, searching her face. His left arm is still wrapped around her waist, and she smiles when he starts to sway her. It feels like it's been centuries, but the song isn't even halfway over yet. She doesn’t know where her date is, and she doesn’t care.

”Okay, doll?" Bucky says softly.

"It's about goddamn time," she says, and softens it by turning her head to press a kiss into his palm. He makes that growling sound again, and she grins at him. "Just can't resist a challenge, can you?"

He huffs one of those little laughs and moves them into a full swing step, arm still wrapped tight around her and her other hand held close to his chest. "No, but that ain't why I kissed you. I wanted to since the second I saw you. And then we danced and it was ..."

"Kaboom," Darcy agrees. "Too much, too fast."

He looks relieved. "Exactly," he says, swinging her into a turn. "I thought we could just dance and not talk about it, and that would be enough. But then that guy put his arms around you and all I could think was, that oughta be me."

Darcy tosses his hands up the way he once did to her, and he grins and lets her back-lead herself into his arms. She tilts her head and kisses him until they're both breathless and off-beat. "Damn right it oughta," she says when they finally break apart. "And we're not going to pretend this never happened after the song ends?"

"Never again," he promises, and kisses her. She fist-pumps, making him laugh that silent belly laugh again. Then he leans in close to her ear. "Here's the moral of the story from a guy who knows," he sings along with Dion, "I fell in love and my love still grows."

Darcy looks up at him, starry-eyed and utterly in love. "That is so not the point of the song," she says.

He laughs again. “Shut up, doll.”

She goes on her toes to whisper right against his ear as the song fades out. “Make me.”

He does. Technically, they don’t talk about it … but then, they don’t do much talking at all.


	6. Dream Lover

The next morning, Darcy goes to the kitchen for coffee and finds Steve, Tony and Jane lying in wait. Well ... Steve and Tony are lying in wait. Jane is reading a scientific paper, cheerfully oblivious to them all.

"Morning," she says, bracing herself. They at least have the common decency to let her pour the coffee before Tony speaks up.

"How was your date last night, Lewis?" He waggles his eyebrows. "Did you get any?"

Darcy can't keep her mouth from curving into a huge, ridiculous smile. She's sore in every muscle, her throat is hoarse, and there are finger-sized bruises on her hips. He curled a fist in her hair and kissed his way down her body, licking love letters onto her skin. Those metal fingers never, ever get tired. And speaking of never getting tired ...

( _"You don't think we're done yet, do you, doll?"_

_"Wait, are you ... oh. Oh wow. That super serum is no joke, huh?"_

_"Nah, but it does give me these memory lapses. Remind me, what's my name again?"_

_"Buck -- aah -- Bucky."_

_"What was that, sweetheart? I didn't hear you."_

_"BUCKY!"_ )

She sticks her face in her mug to hide her blush.

"Definitely got some," Tony says. Steve looks a little pained.

Behind them, Bucky wanders in, wearing sweatpants and nothing else. His hair is a wreck and his mouth is still a little swollen. He looks _edible_. He meets her eyes over Tony's head and returns her smile with a filthy smirk that makes her want to drag him back to bed right this minute, if not sooner. It must show on her face, because the smirk deepens and he nods. Then he holds up a finger and turns around to rummage in the fridge for one of his shakes. His ass in those pants makes her take refuge in the mug again so she doesn't just molest him right here.

"Wait, Darce, you had a date?" Jane says, surfacing out of Science Land. "Is it with that guy you keep texting? She's so smitten, I swear to god bluebirds fly around her head every time he texts her," she adds to the others.

Darcy swallows the coffee hastily, watching the line of Bucky's spine slowly stiffen. _Nononono, don't shut down. This can't become something else we don't talk about. I'm smitten with you, not him. I don't even remember his name._ "No I wasn't, I never ..." Never even sent him any text messages, did she? She frowns. "Wait, what guy?"

Jane gives her the patented Dr. Foster "keep up with the class" look. "Uh, the only guy? Frederick."

Bucky's shoulders relax, and Darcy sighs with relief. He swings around, shake in hand, and lounges back against the counter with his legs crossed. "Frederick, huh?" he rasps, his voice a little more wrecked than usual. Darcy can feel the blush coming back. "Sounds like a great guy."

Steve and Tony swing around at the sound of his voice. Darcy fights down a giggle when their mouths fall open. When they look back at her, she hides in the mug.

"Mmm," she hums noncommittally, and finishes her coffee. "He can be pretty obnoxious, but hey, he's a great dancer."

"That so?" Bucky knocks back his shake and moves like lightning, scooping her up against his chest and swirling both of them towards the door. "Tell me more," he murmurs against her mouth.

Jane squeaks in surprise.

Steve whoops. "Finally!"

"Were we this disgusting?" Tony complains to no one.

"Yes," the others say in unison. "You still are," Darcy adds over Bucky's shoulder.

Tony subsides, failing for once to hide his smile. "JARVIS," he says, "I think this calls for a celebration. Let's hear some Bobby Darin." The crooning intro to _Dream Lover_ fills the kitchen, and Bucky's arms tighten a little as he sways her. When she looks up, his eyes are soft and warm.

“You’re not a bad dancer yourself, doll,” he says. “Any chance you’re in the market for a steady partner?”

“Hmm, we can talk about it,” Darcy says, and lets him dance her back to bed.


End file.
